The Beast Within- A Dusk Tale
by VesuviusBlotch
Summary: Dusk is a vampire. He's evil, murderous and his grudges are nightmare legend. But after tasting his archenemy's blood and running away from civilised magic, he encounters new concepts, new emotions, new ideas. Ideas that twist everything he ever knew and turn them on their head. (An incomplete 3-chapter story of what happened to Dusk between Dark Days and The Maleficent Seven)
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

Under the piercing gaze of the night sky, and with the moon gleaming in full glory, Dusk slipped out of the shadows and approached his dwelling. It was nothing special, or distinctly noticeable, which was ideal for his needs. All he required were a few days respite, as all the drama surrounding him and his former allies died down. He'd been creeping around, hiding in one abandoned hovel after another until he had the chance to return here to his safe house. Only a select few had ever known about its location, most being other vampires and the majority of them being dead anyway. Not that Dusk would ever consider breaking the code, even in enacting some petty revenge. He'd been close to it, the day before, but nothing was worth risking the cardinal sin for. Not even Caelan.

Dusk felt his lip curl as the whelp's name wormed its way into his mind. The young fool was a danger to them all, sorcerer and vampire alike. It was almost laughable, how Dusk had once tried to mentor the ignoramus years ago with Hrishi. The boy had been unteachable, and all they had succeeded in doing was igniting the pup's ire enough so that he killed one of them. Hrishi was dead, and Dusk blamed no one but Hrishi. Other vampires didn't see it that way, unfortunately, and so while he wasn't exactly shunned, Dusk's allies among the vampire ranks were spread thinly, and not just in Ireland. All over the world, his fellow blood suckers despised him, not just for his solitary nature, but his deft turns of allegiance.

But Dusk knew, down deep in that black stone others called a heart, that those same blood suckers would leap at the chance that had been offered a mere few days ago. Had that Desolation Engine been detonated, they'd all be seizing their opportunity at this very moment, hunting down the confused and vulnerable mortals. They were hypocrites, every last one of them, but Dusk didn't care. The Desolation Engine, and the plan's mastermind, Dreylan Scarab had been a mere conduit. The Revenger's Club, ludicrous a name though it was, had been a means to an end and Dusk, unlike some others, had been willing to pledge his services for only a token reward. Namely, Valkyrie Cain.

He'd wanted her dead. He'd desired her blood on his hands, in his mouth, swirling, lapping it up, relishing the experience of her life, so sweet and tender and young, depart her and leave her as either a mutilated corpse or one of his own. An Undead. In the end, it didn't matter which. Both meant she'd suffer torment and agony. Both meant she would no longer rebound around his mind like a ricocheting bullet. Since that fateful day two years ago, the day she'd scarred him, his thoughts had been on nothing but her. Vengeance was a calling, and many times in the past, Dusk had answered that call, settling grudges, slaughtering those who'd dared to wrong him. It was vampire nature, and more than once, Dusk wanted, needed, to quench his burning toil with that unique satisfaction. The satisfaction of ending someone's precious life.

For years, it had been his way and life, or rather Undeath, had been tolerable. His associates became wary and knew of his ability to hunt down and claim his due, with neither mercy nor hesitation. Every few decades, the wrong person would do the wrong thing, and Dusk's goal was clear. Kill them. Ruthlessly. If he was in the mood, he'd prolong it, torture them until they were hoarse with screaming, but often it was instant fulfilment he craved. Shallow, maybe, but it got results. It was best to just get it over with. That was Dusk's whole philosophy. But this girl, this arrogant runt, sidles into a world too big for her, believing just because the Skeleton Detective is at her side, she can say or do whatever she pleases. Ever since he'd first met her, those couple of years ago, trying to kidnap her for the delights of Baron Vengeous, he'd reviled her. Boastful and cocky, but horribly limited in ability and mind. She'd been an easy target. Had Skulduggery Pleasant been absent, Valkyrie Cain would already be dead, and Dusk suspected, not even by his hand. But after marring his eternal beauty, and causing him exquisite pain, Dusk was enamoured with killing her. It became the one thing he was striving for. What little life he had dead was nothing. It was pointless. Nothing mattered except killing Cain.

There was competition, of course. Dusk had learned long ago, that no matter how badly you yearned after something; there was always someone else who thought they deserved it more. Billy-Ray Sanguine, Dusk's old ally, had also wanted Cain's head, as did the lunatic ex-Detective and the deluded Killer Supreme. No doubt in her travels, Cain had assembled all manner of sworn enemies and vengeful foes. Out of all of them, Dusk and Sanguine had got the closest. He'd tasted her blood, after all. According to rumour, the old man Grouse had healed her just in time, but that bite still remained. Cain might have been spared the curse of being a vampire, but Dusk no longer wished death upon her. He'd been fighting it for days, confused beyond repair. It had almost cost him a duel with Caelan, who at the time had intervened. The fool boy had been easily defeated, and Dusk had escaped, making sure Springheeled Jack was left behind and arrested in the process. That little fact comforted Dusk somewhat. Jack had been on his list as well, not only for saving Cain's life but for knocking out Dusk and leading to his brief imprisonment in Russia.

It had been an unpleasant stay, and thanks to Sanguine, he was free after a year or two. Dusk was grateful, but instead of burrowing their way out, they'd had to fight a path to freedom. Successful in the end, but highly inconvenient. It was pure luck they'd kept their fugitive status a secret. Had Russia not been envious of Ireland's Cradle of Magic title, the Revenger's Club would have been shut down before its stupid name had ever been formed. Of all his allies, only Sanguine had shown loyalty. They'd never liked each other, whether it was working for Vengeous or Scarab, but they had a common goal, and that was enough to purge any discrepancies between them. It had been only out of courtesy that Dusk called Sanguine moments after biting Cain and told him what he'd tasted in her blood. Blood rich in history and revealing in truth. It was something he'd thought Sanguine wouldn't understand, but the hitman deluxe had been wiser than anticipated and had let Cain go after a little confrontation. He'd told her it was a crueller option to leave her alive, but that was just a front. Dusk knew the real reason and it poisoned his essence.

A memory, fragmented in his mind, reminded him of heartache, back in his days as a mortal man. All that anger he possessed now, and none of it vanquished. Cain had to live. Valkyrie's destiny was bigger than Dusk now. There was no grand plan left in his mind. No ultimate ambition to accomplish. He had no purpose now. He was just a monster. A monster, with the countenance of a thirty year old man, whose nightmarish being emerged when moonlight shattered his shackles. Steeped as he was in dejection, pondering his second nature, the one that couldn't be controlled, it snapped him back to reality. He looked around. Not a sight of anything. In the distance, an owl hooted and glared at empty sky. Dusk moved. He approached the door to his safe house, a strong and sturdy door. Ironic that this one door was more reliable than the vast majority of people he knew. But then, vampires weren't really classed as people, especially not by themselves.

As Dusk unlocked it, and entered his abode, he peered around. Inside, it was dark. Outside, unassuming. No furniture, no pictures hanging on the walls, nothing. Just one window and floorboards that never creaked. Yet another redeeming gift brought about by his obscenity. Beyond another door was his cage and Dusk's cold centre warmed. Safety at last. He severely doubted Sanctuary agents were sweeping the area, but it just a precaution to scout around the house once more, in case they were any cloaked operatives hanging around. It was no wonder the Sanctuary's influence had been enormously diminished thanks to its destruction. Dusk hadn't seen it, but there had been reports of a devastating tragedy as the old Waxworks Museum had fallen apart. Putting one and one together with the descriptions, it seemed the Desolation Engine had been put to evil use after all. Despite having no idea who the culprit was, Dusk's cares were for nought. Maybe it was Scarab's last bid for revenge, he didn't know. Most importantly, reports were that Pleasant and Cain had barely escaped with a wounded Grand Mage in tow. In a twisted way, Dusk was almost glad Cain had survived. It'd take more than an ancient bomb to destroy her.

Dusk stopped. He was a stone's throw from the cage. A feeling overtook his senses. A raw, primal sensation. It felt like his guts were in knots, his stomach churned and curdled. A hot lance of perfect agony shot through his entirety, the first pangs of a headache swarming through into his mind. He was turning. Soon, the monster would be unleashed and ravage everything and anything in its path. He had to get into the cage and lock himself in. Now. The pain heightened. It was a familiar pain, a sweet release in some ways. There was no need for serum now. The cage was strong enough to contain fifty vampires, never mind one. His actions awkward, his vision murky, Dusk reached for the cage door, swinging it open, hurrying when he beheld his fingernails lengthening to become razor sharp talons.

Once in, Dusk quickly slammed the door shut and worked at the lock. It was complicated and difficult to break, and with his form changing with every second, he had to fight it to keep it at bay. Fighting it was hard. Eventually, the lock clicked and a beep resonated, signifying security was in place. Good. Now he could lose himself in the beast. His frame of mind, a strong tower of obsidian and marble, shattered into a million splinters as the inner monstrosity emerged. Within moments, instinct kicked in, as did a primeval urge to feed on the flesh of prey. For he was the predator and he needed sustenance. Not tonight, though. He let the beast within arise and his sense of humanity, what little of it there was, dissipated into nothing. The moon shed his soul and as he descended into a vortex of blackness, he thought of blood, of purpose and of Valkyrie.

_Author's Notes: This is an incomplete fanfiction I wrote in early October last year that was requested to be uploaded by a friend of mine on the SP fan sub on Reddit. If you're reading this, Emma, this one's for you! Turns out I have two more chapters written, which I plan on uploading. If you want to see the full story I was going for, see the author's notes for Chapter Three, which I'll be uploading on Wednesday. Seems fair to do this a day at a time. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Yet again, she was out at night and yes, again she wasn't supposed to. But peer pressure was a powerful thing and quite frankly, it only took a few words to lure Edith Bilton out of her squalor, because to put it bluntly, her life sucked. She hated school, hated her parents and hated stewing in a pool of her own hatred in her room. Which was why when opportunity arose, she'd be outside, on a street corner, smoking some of the biggest joints she'd ever seen. The night air was chilly, but her black jacket hid her well, not just from the penetrating cold but from prying eyes. Like this, she could sink into the shadows and any passing cops would see her cohorts first. The three other youths hanging out near the dank, dark alleyway overlooking the empty street all wore bright shirts and gleaming white jackets, a sure-fire way to get spotted.

"How's the spliff, Edie?" asked Dennis, a rictus grin etched on his face. Edith ignored the nickname and waited until she'd blown out a load of smoke into his face before answering. Dennis was a thug and an idiot and just an all-round dodgy prick and everyone knew it. He was an unstable one, too but handy if you needed something drug-related. Edith sighed.

"It's all right. It's not exactly getting rid of my stress, though…" answered Edith and Dennis scoffed, glancing at the other two smokers leaning on the wall.

"It'll work its magic soon enough, Edie," Dennis told her and Edith scowled again, "I mean look at these two. They're higher than a fucking pair of kites!" Cutting off his raucous laughter with a sharp cough, Dennis shut up and inhaled again. At this rate, he'd die of lung cancer before college ended. Turning over her own cigarette, Edith studied it. Strange, how something so small and dull had the potential to kill so many. Unlike the others, Edith had no interest in being addicted to the pleasures of nicotine and tar for the rest of her life. It was purely stress relief and at the moment, it was doing a shit job of it.

"Damn, that's good stuff, Den," said Johnny, spluttering a little, "Got any more? I want to have a couple more of those before I go home." In reply, Dennis shrugged and scratched his shaggy mane of black hair.

"Don't know, Johnny boy, I kinda need to save some shit for some other kids. You lot aren't my only customers, you know." At this, Johnny nodded and finished the joint he was on. Next to him, his psycho girlfriend, Olivia was hugging herself against the cold, chattering teeth and drugged out of her mind. Not for the first time, Edith wondered just how the hell she'd delved into this crazy world of poisoned lungs and powdery noses. She hadn't done cocaine yet, but that was it. Yet. That yet was not promising.

After a while, Dennis and Johnny started chatting, drawing their conversation to a close. It was about the future and what it held for them. Keeping quiet, Edith silently tossed it over in her head. Dennis? Most likely he would end up as an amateur drug lord, the kind who with every ounce believed that they were cock of the walk until getting either raided by the Garda or killed in some mad shootout with another gang. Not promising for Dennis. Johnny, then? His constant demands for a quick blunt meant he'd probably be some kind of thug, maybe even one of Dennis' henchmen. He pretty much acted like one now. Maybe he'd die with his boss. That'd be ironic and just a bit hilarious if it wasn't for all the blood, guns blazing and guts flying, but whatever. As for Olivia, well…that crackhead would be lucky if she survived to go to university. This made Edith chuckle a little.

She wished she hadn't. The boys paid her no mind, still bantering away idly, but Olivia's head flitted to her, so fast she might have got whiplash. Her brown eyes were boring into Edith's blue. This wasn't good. Slowly, Olivia approached Edith, eyes never breaking contact. Edith inhaled again, for the last time, aware her fag was about to run out and focused on Olivia, maintaining a neutral expression. The last thing she wanted was to incite the wrath of a girl coked out of her mind. But, as always, life had found a way of making Edith suffer and she wasn't at all surprised when Olivia sneered at her.

"Something funny?" she asked, lip curling and Edith regarded her coolly, never letting her guard slip. Tension swept the air like plague. Olivia's glare was a piercing beam and it was breaking Edith down. It was unearthly, how long she could keep her eyes stay open.

"No," Edith replied simply, acting casual but this only seemed to enrage Olivia more.

"Oh yeah, well why are you laughing then? Chuckling away, like that, huh? You stupid bitch!" Olivia's teeth bared, but her face remained deathly pale, instead of turning red with rage. That was unsettling. As was Olivia smacking the cigarette out of Edith's hand and proceeding to throttle her. Shit. Hands around her throat and Edith flailed, one palm hitting Olivia in the nose, but the onslaught was relentless. The boys were fading fast as the world rocked and tumbled, but their objections and shouts echoed all around her. The pressure was hard, but Olivia stumbled and Edith seized her chance.

Both arms spiking up, Edith broke the grip and shoved Olivia off her at the shoulders, sending her tripping back. She wasn't going down easy, though and rolled around like mad before getting back to her feet. Not giving her the opening to inflict more pain, Edith charged, punching Olivia square in the face. It hurt her knuckles but it sent Olivia spinning, and to finish her off, shot a fist into the mad girl's stomach. A gurgle of agony and a groan and Olivia went down. Edith backed off, unsure what the reaction would be. She looked at the boys. Dennis seemed amused, holding back a laugh but Johnny was mortified. He flocked to Olivia's prone form, face locked in fear. After checking her, he stepped to Edith.

This time, Edith was scared. Would Dennis intervene? Or would he let the chaos ensue and watch? There was no way to tell. For the moment, though, Edith had much more pressing matters on her mind. Like Johnny, towering over her, fists clenched and mien contorted in unbridled anger. She took a breath and held it. There was not a sound in the world. No owls, no crickets or nocturnal animals on the prowl. Just Olivia's whimpering and Dennis' snorting.

"Why'd you do that?" Johnny asked his voice clear and calm despite the flaring nose and eyes brimming with promises of viciousness. Edith hesitated. "Well?" Johnny pressed and Edith swallowed, and then hoped he hadn't seen her swallow. She didn't know why she was like this. Showing weakness was way better than a beating at this point.

"She attacked me, Johnny," Edith answered, hoping to God he recognised the honesty bleeding into it, "She just came up and-"

"Shut up!" snapped Johnny and Dennis barked a laugh. "What gives you the fucking right to hit my girl like that, you dumb bitch? You know what you've done? You've earned this."

Johnny swung a punch and Edith saw it coming. It crunched against her cheek and sent her reeling but she felt the hard brick wall with her hands, rebounded off it and as her vision cleared, launched herself at Johnny. He wasn't expecting it, but he adapted well enough and threw her off. Dennis stepped in and held Edith at bay.

"Now, now, Edie," he said, in that horrid posh voice he put on all the time, "Naughty, naughty. If you want to sample the goods, you better behave. Got it?"

Edith frowned. "What?"

"Apologise, Edie," said Dennis, gesturing to the others, "Just a little thing. That's all."

"But she attacked me first!" Edith argued but Dennis was too stubborn and besides, he'd rather lose one of his customers than two. In the end, she realised it wasn't worth it and stomped off, departing in a huff.

"This means no weed for you, Edie!" Dennis jeered after her, "Not anymore! Have fun, bitch!" He chortled and Edith left him and his laugh far behind and embraced the cool comfort of twilight.

She'd only been asking for it, hanging around with those cretins. A control freak, a temperamental prick and a fucking ket addict. Hardly good company. Edith had no idea when or even how she'd started out on this road. She'd never really been the top marks student in class, but she got by. Now, her grades were a mess and her life was a shit heap, a collage of one disaster after disaster. At college, she was an exile of friendship. At home, she was a recipient of abuse. At least at night, she was alone and alone meant peace. Not for the first time, dark and muddied thoughts bounced through her head, running away from her troubles was tempting but where would she even go? She had nowhere to go to. She'd read countless stories detailing these outcasts and loners seeking solitude and eking fresh and fruitful lives, but couldn't for the life of her figure out how to do that for herself.

Better yet, just end it all. Very rarely, she contemplated suicide, but during times like this, when so much boiling fury and paralysing sorrow was pent up in her like this, she fixated on nothing else. It was a release, but self-harm? She'd have to be really down deep in the chasm of depression to properly analyse that option. How? She often asked. She'd ended up thinking that beheading was the best method. No pain, unless it was blatantly cocked up. A guillotine was reliable, but did they even exist anymore? Maybe in museums. There was a reason she'd failed history. Better to not dwell on it, she reasoned. Still, what was there to live for, in her case?

She had no idea what to do with her rapidly dwindling life. She'd wanted originally to be an author or writer of some kind and had always been enraptured by drama as a subject. She'd been praised as an aspiring actress, but her talent had been cut short when she'd fallen into the encroaching abyss that she called her existence now. These days, she cared less about her future and more about where the next hit was coming from. If tonight was any indicator, she doubted she'd get any offers on sharing a spliff anytime soon. As she walked further through the deserted streets, she held back a shiver as a whole new wave of chill passed through her. Pausing a little, she glanced around. She clenched her jaw. This was a bad part of town. Not even the hardest kids ventured out here for a smoke. Edith wasn't even sure why. It just felt…unnatural.

Puffing out her chest, Edith kept striding along, but watching her surroundings, in case of any ruffians or muggers lying in wait. She was eighteen after all, she wasn't a kid in the sense of the word and she could go where she wanted after dark. It was that typical rebellious attitude of hers that she hated. It always landed her into trouble and tonight was no exception. Something bad was going to happen. Something awful. It burrowed deep within her mind, scrambling her reason, poking and prodding the raw fear festering inside her. It took only a second for her own footsteps to become foredooming to her ears. Something was wrong. So terribly wrong.

Then, a click. Whirling, Edith scanned behind her, looking for something, anything threatening or out of the ordinary. But there was nothing. Just thick, dense smog settling down. Weird. It wasn't like she kept up with weather forecasts but they'd been nothing about this. That click had been strange. What had- Breathing? Rapid panting. From somewhere to her left. Turning, that's when she saw the quaint house. Although it was less of a house, and more of a…well, a tiny house. A humble dwelling, it had one visible door and a couple of tinted, cracked windows that were smeared with grime and slime. Unpleasant as it was, Edith felt a bizarre calling to that house. Whether it was something supernatural, or just her own brazen curiosity, she had no idea, but…what the hell? You only live once, right?

She strolled across an empty road, the silence of the grave emanating in on all directions. She instantly regretted it, but before she could register the distance she was crossing, she was facing the door. This was something like out of a horror movie. They're just movies, Edith, that voice in her head reassured and not doing a good job of it. They're just freaking movies. She tried the knob, a thick thing that maybe once had been gold, but was scratched and sullied into dullness. It was open. That caught her off guard. If it had been locked, she could've just forgotten all about this creepy dwelling and the tingling fear dancing up her spine. But it opened, and she just had to continue.

Inside the not-so-big house, Edith took in a bland assortment of walls, floor and ceiling, all stained and bombed in. There were a couple of doors ahead, and wouldn't you know it? One of them was open. It was beckoning her. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but there was another part of that, about reviving or something. Whatever, it was enough motivation to carry on with this insanely unwise journey. She tentatively stepped inside, expecting a creak in the floorboards. Thankfully, there wasn't one. Too cliché? Nevertheless, Edith walked through the room, scouting it out. She realised there was an old, tattered couch in the corner, shrouded in darkness and a table on the other side, again, concealed. Whoever had lived here wasn't exactly decorative. Then, it hit her like a fist. Another click, from behind the open door. Vaguely, she made out incessant moaning and rasping that got louder and stronger with each heavy second. Running was the right to do, but she approached further. That click, though…It had been a lock click, no mistake about that. Edith had locked her room door to escape her parents' ranting and raving many times to have become acquainted with the sound.

Heavy breathing, like lead, less like a human being and more like a wounded beast. Edith's senses overtook her and she froze, thinking at a cracking pace. Whatever it was, something told her not to interfere. But whoever, or whatever it was, was in agony. They might need help. And no one was around to give to it. Except Edith. She knew how that felt, to need something dearly and be denied it due to others' selfishness. Steadying her stance, Edith snatched a breath and held it tight. She opened the door wider, enough to see into the room. What she saw stopped her dead in her tracks.

There was one window in this room, a shaft of moonlight shining through into a rustic grey cage, barred and sealed with a complex-looking lock device. Basking in the power of the moon, trapped inside the cage, was something that could only be described as nightmarish. A true monster in every essence of the word. It crouched on four legs, its spine sickeningly visible beneath its chalk white skin. Even from here, Edith could see the claws on its hands and feet, like enlarged daggers, ready to slice. Its head was cast down, facing the floor. Beyond all the fear stabbing at her, Edith frowned at the pile of rags down there. There were bits of clothing, she realised, black fabric, and something else too…Skin. Oh, God. Either this creature shed its skin like a snake or it had just skinned someone else alive. Either possibility made her force a step back in confusion and ever growing terror. That one step triggered something.

The monster's head reared up, and Edith recoiled at the sight of its fangs, jutting out like carving knives. Its mouth was an abyss, eager for blood. Those teeth, though, they were too huge for the beast's maw, and they reached out at Edith, wanting to feed. It took a big sniff, and pounced. Yelping, a bolt of adrenaline tinged with dread, Edith jumped back and fell through the doorway, as the monster hit the cage and rebounded inside it, going absolutely mental. The cage swayed and threatened to topple. No matter how secure that lock looked, Edith was not going to be there if that thing escaped. Scrambling up, Edith shot out of the house like a bullet, shutting the front door. Hard.

She ran. Through the streets and through alleyways, seeking refuge in the dark corners of night-time and still she heard the roars. They were scraped out of its throat, echoing around the town, planting its way into her dreams. Not long after, Edith ran far away enough so the house was no longer in sight. Not even remotely near. So why was she still breathing madly? The danger was over. But that roar, those bulbous bauble-shaped eyes, black as sin, observing her, scrutinising her for meal potential…and that roar. It was stuck in her head. She felt cold. Not just chilled, but seriously, horribly cold. Her hands were shaking. She only just noticed how badly her hands were shaking. And pale. Deathly white. As white as the monster…It couldn't exist. How could something like that be there? What the hell was going on? Now that her survival instincts weren't kicking in, Edith's mind was racing instead of her body. No way had that just happened. No fucking way.

Monsters. They didn't exist. Only in legend and myth and such. Edith grasped her head with both hands, focusing on one empty space, trying to think straight. She couldn't. She didn't believe she ever would again. She needed to immerse herself in reality again. Fumbling around in her pocket, she searched for her phone. Found it. Took it out. Checked the time. Nearly one o'clock. How long had she been hiding out in this alley, huddled, and petrified in fright and alarm? Too long. Even for her, this was late, and she had bloody school in the morning. So much for sleep tonight. But still, she needed to return home. Her parents would skin her alive if she- No. Wrong choice of words there.

Pocketing her phone, Edith poked her head out of the alley. She doubted the thing had followed her, if it had broken out of its prison. She'd had a major head start on it, but something about it had been so…animalistic. She knew it had picked up her unique scent and like a true predator would remember it. Track it. Track her and find her. Panic crawled into her chest and thumped. She sped home, losing her way twice because of glancing over her shoulder more times than in front of her. When she finally reached her house, she tiptoed to the door. If she was unlucky, her parents would still be up, anxiously waiting for her return and lining up for a reprimand. If she was lucky, they'd be in bed and she could quietly slip into her own, and pretend she'd only been out till 10. If she was incredibly lucky, that monster would follow her and kill her parents for her. Dark, yes, but reassuring. Suddenly, it didn't seem so scary any more. Who knows? Maybe it hadn't really happened. Maybe it was all just some sick side effect from those joints.

But that mouth, those eyes that scream of anguish and of a denied feast. When that popped into her head, it smacked her like stone. It had been real. Not even on her most depressed day did she conjure up such crazy shit like that. The stuff of nightmares. That thing was real. Like a thunderclap, the tormented roar appeared in her head, and Edith closed her eyes and grabbed her key. Fingers trembling, she unlocked the door and went inside, leaving the beams of ill moonlight behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Faircourt Flats was many different things. Just another regular run-down suburban apartment building to most. To others, a safe haven. For a select few, however, it was something truly extraordinary. A fortress, an arena and today, a gathering place. For right now, within its deepest depths, a meeting was taking place. An important meeting. One where several of the most influential vampires in Europe would band together, voice their unanimous concerns and in the end, absolutely nothing would get done. It was startling, in its own way, how, despite being the ruthless killing machines that they were, vampires had a tendency to be very predictable. Neutral was the ideal term. Throughout the centuries he'd been Undead, Dusk had seldom known any vampires to be unpredictable, and if they were, were either damaged or enslaved to their passions. Several came to mind. Caelan for one. Samuel for another. Victor, too, but his fate remained a mystery. After returning to Ireland to be a willing pawn in Scarab and Sanguine's masterplan, word had spread within certain echelons, that a mortal arena had been broken up and shut down by the Sanctuary. Not only had Caelan been involved, but the ringleader in closing down the whole operation had been none other than the infamous Valkyrie Cain. No surprise there.

Valkyrie.

Even now, Dusk's mind failed to settle. Fragments of thought raged inside his mind, encounters and memories swirling like a heat haze, blinding him to the reality before him. Last night had been a tour de force like never before. Days before, his change had consisted of a dangerous bloodlust but this morning he'd replenished his skin with a major headache, which meant one of two things. He'd either injured himself in a feeding frenzy or he'd been denied fresh prey. He'd woken from his stupor with the cage on one side, so he'd been very active, when usually he'd just stoop and mull on the length of his claws. Had it been a passing mortal, that meant trouble, but it could be solved. It could be contained. He doubted any sane mortal would spew tales of a monster late at night and expect to be believed. Nevertheless, it was a dilemma, and that was one of the reasons he'd arrived at the Flats. To seek the counsel and advice from one of the few reliable chains of support that remained.

Dusk scanned the area. Graffiti lined the building as always, but that was more for a show of normality than anything. Vandalism had been whittled down to nothing thanks to Moloch and his cronies. In exchange for this, they only desired one thing: new blood. The vampire ranks would grow. Unlike other such beasts in the magical world, they had little chance of becoming extinct. Dusk didn't much care. Ultimately, it was only his own extinction he'd ever be worried about. A couple of people were darting around, but they were the mortal inhabitants. Like reflections, vampires could be spotted immediately by someone else of their ilk. Dusk wasn't astonished in the slightest. The others were probably already inside. The meeting might already be under way. Grit and spit marked the way into the flat, and Dusk entered, unfazed.

As he journeyed through the apartments, he noticed all the tell-tale signs. Slight dents in the walls, claw marks on the ceiling, pools of coppery dried blood in the corners. To those with eyesight exceeding that of a hawk's, it was all there to see. To the keen, oblivious mortals who shared the territory, it was merely adequate if a bit neglected. To think, just weeks before, he'd arrived to bargain with Moloch for a contingent of vampires to raid the Sanctuary and steal the Desolation Engine and then returned for more only to throw Valkyrie Cain over a railing to the ground far below. In hindsight, he had been a fool to believe that was enough to end her life. Not only proficient in Elemental and Necromancy magic, but aided by the Skeleton Detective, who turned out to fly. Fly! Dusk had fled of course and decided not to go back. Now, here he was again. Ironic to the last.

Eventually, after much reminiscing, he came up to a door that he knew led to Moloch's lair. He heard voices. Muttered, some urgent, others collected. Before he had the chance to touch it, it opened and Ophelia emerged. Seeming to be in her twenties, strikingly pretty, with long hair cascading off her head like an amber river, she wore casual clothes and only a light sheen of make-up. She delighted in indulging herself in mortal pleasures. She needn't bothered, as she was eternally cast as she was, beauteous and exquisite. Only her pale skin reflected her inner darkness, as Dusk's did. He expected her to snarl or sneer at him, considering their history, but she merely bowed her head in fleeting greeting.

"Dusk," she said, voice sweet like honey, betraying none of her nature, "You're late."

"I know," he responded, "Have I missed much?"

"Maybe turn up when the gathering begins. Then you won't need to ask."

"Answer the question."

"Very well," Ophelia regarded him, eyes glazed, "No. Not much. Felix has been running his mouth off for the past fifteen minutes anyway. There's been very little time for business."

Dusk nodded and went to move past her, but she blocked his path. He tilted his head. "Let me pass. I've as much right to be here as any vampire, if not more so."

"Why's that, Dusk?" she asked, voice growing more brittle, with more of an edge, "Because you pledge yourself with Faceless Ones fanatics? You think you're better than the rest of us lowlifes because you've been some deluded zealots' minion?"

"No." he said and shoved her away. She tried to grab him, but he was much older, faster and better than her and effortlessly escaped her desperate clutches and proceeded to enter Moloch's lounge. Luxurious sofas torn and tarnished by the ages dotted the room; there was one window that allowed a view of the marvellous pavement across the street and ten vampires were present. Some stood to attention and others were seated, enjoying the leisure offered. All eyes darted to Dusk. Dusk merely nodded and went to stand in the corner, inspecting all the vampires at hand. He knew all of them by name and quite gratefully, only a few by nature.

Moloch was unmistakable. He silently stalked from one attendee to another, conversing and welcoming them. It was immensely difficult to take any good words from Moloch seriously, when his face had been sharpened like flint into a mien as cruel as it was fierce. No one messed with Moloch. He was ancient and powerful, even older than Dusk. There was always a degree of enmity between them, nothing severe but they'd known each other for centuries and bar a few occasions, their conflict had never elevated beyond a measly scrap. Fighting Moloch was inadvisable. On cue, Moloch broke off his discussion with his current guest and like a lion closing in on a wounded gazelle, approached Dusk.

Like a misguided lightning bolt, Ophelia sprang into the room and turned one way, looking for Dusk. When she spotted him, tucked away in the corner, she made a beeline for him, but Moloch held a hand up, making her freeze. At this point, all the other vampires were watching.

"Halt," Moloch ordered, his vicious command resonating throughout the whole chamber, "Ophelia, need I remind you this is a sanctuary. Not a tower swarming with sorcerer types and deluded operatives, an altogether different sanctuary. Our sanctuary. While here, no vampire who has not earned the wrath of his kin will be harmed. Unless Dusk has broken the code in the brief few days he has been absent and I highly doubt that he has done, he will be given the same respect as the others here. Do you understand?"

Ophelia froze, glaring at Dusk. She bowed and retreated slightly. Humiliation was key in corralling any wild cards in this game. Ophelia might have been the wildest card of all, but even she wouldn't disobey the head vampire. She definitely wouldn't dream of upsetting her father. At a gesture, Moloch willed the conversations around him to take place again, only this time; they were in muted debates and murmured whispers. Moloch gave a slight nod to Ophelia, and, obedient as ever, she stood at the door, guarding the room. When it was time, Moloch turned and gazed at Dusk.

"Now then," he said, flexing his palms, "tell me why you are here."

Dusk offered nothing but a ghost of a shrug. "It is as you said. I came for sanctuary and to attend the meeting."

"And just who invited you?" Moloch said, demeanour calm as a still lake at night, "You're not exactly liked here, you know that. Why have you really returned, especially after our little altercation?"

"I wouldn't call it that," said Dusk, holding his ground, "We made a deal. When the Skeleton Detective and Valkyrie came snooping around, it was hardly my fault, was it?"

"Interesting," Moloch tapped one slender, bony finger against his chin, "I assume your grudge regarding the Cain girl still stands? Somehow I doubt it; otherwise you'd be out there now, hunting her. I know you, Dusk."

"No. She lives but I have no quarrel with her anymore." Dusk noticed Moloch's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

"Indeed?" he asked incredulously, "I thought I'd never see the day. I assume it's entirely none of my business why she lives, right?"

"Yes," said Dusk and let the silence drift down. Moloch probed him with his eyes, but Dusk let nothing show. He'd hidden his swarming rage enough times to mask it with finesse. Moloch pursed his lips and scratched at his jaw.

"I see Ophelia still adores you," he said jestingly, "She's so young, and I'm amazed her memory is as strong as it is. Do not fear her, though, she may be an impetuous creature, but a docile one."

"I don't fear her," Dusk assured him, "I know she has fire within her, but fire can be extinguished quite easily. I warn you though, Moloch, should she attack me first, are you prepared to exile your daughter for breaking the code?"

Moloch's eyes flashed. "She is loyal to our ways. Impulsive as she is, it is all in service of our cause. She'd never break the code."

"Willingly, of course," Dusk said and for a dense second, he thought he'd been too bold. But Moloch smiled graciously and grinned. It was not a grin that brought friendliness to mind.

"As for you, Dusk, you've shown time and time again you have no intention of breaking the code throughout all the long, arduous centuries we've known each other. Sometimes, you surprise me here and there. I knew you owed Vengeous; I knew you'd ally yourselves to that silly little Revenger's Club, but the code? That's the one thing, isn't it? That one semblance of honour left remaining? So long as you keep on being merciful to others of your kind, you can act as hypocritical as you want."

Moloch held his hands mockingly. "Don't worry. I won't cast you out. But remember, you're still technically a fugitive, on the run from the Sanctuary. You might be forgotten about at the moment, but so long as you're here, we're all in danger of being arrested. Personally, I don't fancy being carted away to a cell as an accessory to your shenanigans."

"I doubt any cell remains after the Desolation Engine," spoke Dusk at last and Moloch sniffed.

"Indeed. I wonder do you know who set it off. Whoever they were, they've sent the entire country into an uproar."

"Not really. Scarab maybe, but I don't see how. He'd been arrested last I heard. I don't care. It keeps them away from chasing me down anyhow."

Moloch bit his lip. "You don't care, do you? About anything? Cain's head on a stake maybe, but you seem to have gone off the idea."

"There'll be too much danger in her life in the future. It'd be unfair to hold a grudge now."

"Especially when you've had the chance to kill her…what? How many times has it been? Four? Five? Even for you, that's shocking."

He was rubbing salt in the wound. Like every other vampire, salt killed eventually. Dusk didn't respond. That was just what Moloch wanted. He wanted a snap, so he could banish him from the room, but Dusk wanted to be here, annoying as it was. He needed Moloch's guidance and influence to carve out a living for a few years until it was time to emerge back into the world again. Difficult, if not impossible, considering Moloch's present mood, but it could be done. It would have to wait until after the meeting, though.

"Very well, Dusk, if you want to stay, stay. But we're talking about serious stuff here," Moloch pointed to where Dusk stood, "so it'd be great if you'd stay there and do nothing. Just listen."

"Fine," Dusk acquiesced and stood perfectly innate. Moloch looked at him just a bit longer than necessary before moving off and telling everyone to sit down, relax and finish off trading stories and chatting. When everyone had settled, Moloch welcomed them and got straight to the point.

"Thanks for coming, all. Looks like everyone I invited is here and…" Moloch glanced at Dusk, "…more. If you're feeling a bit snackish, Ophelia can pass you a blood pack." Moloch gestured at her and chuckled, "Now then, let's begin. Kronos, you've been here for over an hour, you seem very eager to say something. Let's hear it."

Kronos. Nearly seven feet tall, with tangled masses of hair as black as his heart, he sat there, sprawled out on the sofa like he owned the place. That was Moloch's favourite couch, as well. Dusk had known him nearly as long as Moloch and during those many years, his ire had been raised countless times by Kronos' words. As malicious as he was manipulative, his standing throughout the vampire communities around the world, especially in his homeland of Greece, meant nearly infinitesimal respect. To Dusk, on the surface, it was more like fear.

Moloch was no tyrant, but he ruled with an iron fist. Belial's beliefs took on an altogether different role. He was a purist, and was disgusted with the idea of mortals becoming vampires, even though it was far more common than sorcerer conversion. Probably because they were more willing to experience eternal life. It was astonishing, how many vampires agreed with his views, despite it meaning less and less members being recruited. To Dusk, it didn't matter in the slightest since once bitten, they were cursed with the same obscenity. Undeath claimed all, no matter their magic status.

"First I want to know what's going on with the Sanctuary," demanded Belial, eyes fixed on Dusk but speaking to Moloch, "I've been hearing rumours bob around since I set foot in this dismal country, but there's no definite answer. Which is why I thought someone here would know."

"Well, there's been rumours, of course," Moloch answered, "the most popular one being that it was the Sanctuary's former Prime Detective who detonated it."

A barking laugh. It was Felix. Of course, it was Felix. Still relatively young for a vampire, nearly as young as Ophelia, his bark was far worse than his bite. For the bitter century Dusk had known him, he'd struck an instant message to the arrogant pup. One that hopefully Felix still recalled today. If not, violent circumstances were almost sure to happen. Felix finished off his laugh and waved his hand airily.

"I highly doubt that. As unbalanced as he is, Skulduggery Pleasant isn't stupid enough to commit something like that. Murder, yeah sure, but terrorism? No way."

"The destruction of the Sanctuary itself claimed many sorcerer's lives," spoke Isara, ever the voice of reason, "By extension, destroying the Sanctuary was an act of murder, Grendel."

Felix scowled. "You know what I meant. Pleasant's unstable, but why the hell would he do that?"

"Shut up, Felix," Moloch spat venomously, "I wasn't talking about the skeleton!"

Kronos stroked his chin, sliding his tongue over his teeth. "I assume you mean the woman Marr?"

"Davina Marr, yes," confirmed Moloch, still glaring daggers at Felix, "She's on the run. A fugitive, from my sources."

"She isn't the only one," murmured Kronos, eyes fixed on Dusk, in the kind of murmur you wanted everyone in the room to hear. Mortals called it a stage whisper. Dusk called it a threat. And all vampires knew that where there was a threat, blood was soon to fly as a response.

_Author's Notes: That is the end of it. Originally, the story was going to focus on Dusk infecting the girl in Chapter Two and her becoming his apprentice throughout the wicked adventures between books. The names of the girl as well as the OC vampires here, I'm considering transplanting into my OC fic. Otherwise, thanks for reading. Also, apologies for the abrupt ending but I took a break while writing that became five or so months long. But this is requested, so thanks again, Emma. _


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